Ashes of Nicolette
by CaptivateYou
Summary: There comes a point in a person's life when they need to accept who they really are. In leaving behind the expectations of others, a future is born. My sister has already taken a stand. Now, it's my turn.
1. Chapter 1

A few important notes before we begin:

- _**This story is AU**_. Completely and indisputably so. If you don't like it, or don't agree with how I use these characters, that's fine. It's your choice whether to read it or not.

- _**There will be lesbian stuff later in the story**_ (I'm still on the fence over how graphic to make it). It's not the dominant theme (there IS an actual story-line, not just lemons) but it is there, so be warned.

- **_Constructive criticism is welcomed. Flamers will be laughed at._**

For example, THIS is construtive: "Your grammar could use some work, perhaps get a beta? Also, the characterization in this chapter is a little less solid, I'd suggest blah blah blah. Good luck, and other than that you're doing great". You see? There's a respectful tone to it, and it doesnt mindlessly rip into the author telling them how much it sucks. Always end with something positive!

An example of flaming: "Omg I can't read this anymore. You totally butchered the character of Sookie, like seriously? Why are you even writing this?" That's just laughable! Fanfiction is FOR FUN. There is no monetary gain, no professional editors fine-tuning everything to perfection (betas, while awesome, are not necessarily professionals). CHILL OUT, for your sake.

- **_Reviews are hugely appreciated. _**If you want more, leave a few words telling me so. Otherwise, I get the impression that no one likes it, and am less motivated to update on a regular basis.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy **Ashes of Nicolette**!

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><p>"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We're beginning our decent into Shreveport Regional Airport, should be about fifteen minutes. The time is 8:30 PM, and it's a lovely clear summer night in Shreveport, with little to no cloud cover. Thank you for choosing American Airlines, and we hope to see you again soon."<p>

Never in my life have the words of a complete and utter stranger brought me so much joy.

I smile in relief, and I immediately regret the action. The man who is currently talking at me – I had been politely ignoring him for the better part of two hours – seems to assume that my smiling was an expression of appreciation, and chortles in response.

"Isn't that just precious? My child just about died, she was so embarrassed! Ah, those were the days…you look like her, you know. You said you just graduated college, did you?"

I reluctantly nod, wondering exactly what I had done to deserve this. Was it the fact that I was lying to my parents? Surely years of regular Church attendance made up for this one time. It wasn't even a lie, really. Just a bit of harmless fibbing that wouldn't hurt anyone, not even myself. Where's the sin in something like that?

Mom always says that God doesn't care about what degree of sin you commit. _Sin is sin_, she states, _and God makes sure that every sinner meets justice_. That was pretty much all that came out of her mouth whenever vampires were mentioned. Luckily for her, San Luis Obispo wasn't a popular residency for vampires, seeing as our town is almost completely populated by religious folk who silver first and ask questions later.

Wait, scratch that, they _never _ask questions.

I can see her point when it comes to vampires, but I just can't accept that attending my sister's wedding – under the pretense of visiting a Church friend in Louisiana – is considered equal to the sin of killing others. And yet I still found it necessary to lie, because my parents…well…they're unpredictable, to say the least.

I tune the man out, pulling my knees up without too much difficulty and holding them close to my chest. My long hair falls forward, creating a dark barrier in-between me and my companion, a barrier that said companion ignores without much consideration.

"I remember when I finished school. It was a different time, back then, but the feeling was the same. My parents let me stay with them for a while, until I got on my feet, y'know? Then, I got a job–"

_God Almighty, please, I'm begging you, save me!_

My silent prayer goes unanswered. In fact, the man seems to perk up even more, asking me direct questions that force me to interact more than I was before. The plane is buffeting downward, my stomach lurching at the movement, and I lean back against the thick, padded seat. I look at the expensive leather, shaking my head in wonder.

Rebecca had been one of _those _children. There's one in every family, I've found; there's at least one child that is set on defying every moral the rest of the family upholds. I was eight years Rebecca's junior, so my memories of her were rather fuzzy at best. I remember glimpses of the fights they used to have, the awful sound of Dad's bellows, the wailing of my sister as she screamed at him. Granted, I was too young to know what the heck they were shouting about, but by the time Rebecca turned eighteen – I had turned thirteen a few months earlier – I had a clear gist of what the problem was.

That's the one memory I can recall with perfect clarity. Rebecca had been standing in the living room, dressed in shorts that barely covered her rear, and a shirt that shamelessly showed off her abundance of breast. I remember clearly the feeling of shame that flushed up my cheeks at the sight, and yet at the same time I couldn't look away. Rebecca had never looked more comfortable and beautiful to me, and now, years later, I know that it was because she had decided to stop fighting her nature. Rebecca was not cut out for the sheltered, religious life, and my parents refused to see that, cruelly so.

So she stood, blatantly taunting Dad with the sinfulness of her attire, and in her four-inch wedge heels her eyes were level with his. They both had the same bright, green-gray eyes, and I remember quaking as the two vibrant colors clashed and battled for dominance.

My dad finished signing the emancipation papers with a shaking hand. In retrospect, I wondered if the shaking was a result of sadness or furious relief. Mom was silently angry, her arms crossed and her lips so tightly pressed together that the creases at the corner of her mouth were bereft of color. I was standing at the doorway to the rest of the house, watching in quiet horror as my father roughly shoved the papers into the face of my sister. The stark whiteness of the paper fluttered before my eyes; my father had thrown them too suddenly for my sister to catch them. Rebecca picked them up off the ground very calmly, and, after checking to see that everything was in order, picked up her duffel bag.

Rebecca began to leave, and reached just outside the door. Then, she turned back, looking at me for the first time. Her eyes were ringed with black – she had showed me her eyeliner and mascara several times, but in that moment the names for the things escaped me, and became the darkness that separated the two of us – and tenderness softened the skin around her mouth when she saw the confused expression on my face.

My older sister opened her mouth, but it was at that moment that my mother lunged forward to slam the door shut, and whatever Rebecca was going to say to me was lost.

It had been eight years since then.

My parents had continuously told me – when I was younger, and stupid enough to mention my sister in any way, shape or form – that Rebecca was probably flipping burgers and struggling to pay rent each month. Or worse, selling her body and blood to vampires at the various vampire bars and hotels.

Now, seeing as my parents are blatantly bitter and antagonistic in regards to my older sister, I know better than to believe their stories. And the fact still stands: she had gotten me a first class ticket. What in the world was my sister doing that gave her the ability to spend two thousand dollars on a measly plane ticket?

I know a bit about fangbangers – I get a quick jolt, knowing that if I had dared use that word at home, Mom's hand would have come down rather painfully across my cheeks – and they don't get paid at all. So it isn't likely that she's doing that, thank the Lord. But even blood donors (a girl in my dorm had been one) have to pay a large portion of their fees to an insurance company created to ensure the donors safety and financial compensation. It's known as the BDG, or Blood Donors' Guild, and with that a regular donor makes about the same as if they were working full-time in a cubicle.

The plane lands abruptly, the rough shaking and sickening speed making me more than slightly nervous. I grip the arm rests, and stare in anxious awe as the wing flaps fling themselves upward, helping the immense plane in its attempt to slow down. The fear only lasts a little while, and eventually the aircraft is in control, and turns toward the gate. Men and women are riding in carts as well as walking on the runway, holding bright lights and waving various planes toward their destinations. The large lampposts shed bluish light on the black cement, and the vests of the airport workers become blinding neon – all in the same orange shade.

I stare out the window, looking at the area surrounding the airport. It appears to be just like any other city, with tall silvery buildings and the lights and blurry colors of passing cars. Trees line the far side, and when I look up, I am met with a dark, blue-black sky. This doesn't surprise me – it had been well past sunset when I boarded the plane.

The panic begins to settle in, and I let out a hoarse cough. Why did I accept Rebecca's invitation again? I'm just setting myself up for unbearable pain and awkwardness – Rebecca and I have most likely changed in our years apart, and assumedly have taken very different paths. No doubt she's making it big as a beautiful, successful businesswoman with a horde of shining, golden lovers. Even though it had been a long time ago, I still remembered the ease with which she attracted others. It was like she had a halo over her head, a seductive, sultry halo that drew men in like moths.

I, on the other hand…

Just the other night, at a Church dinner, a family friend mentioned that I was the spitting image of my mother, and that if I was half as smart as she was I would snatch up a nice, respectable boy and start a family. I had been wearing my USC sweater at the time, and never once did the topic of college and possible careers enter the conversation. Soon after, Mom pulled me aside and scolded me for wearing it, as she had been doing all evening, only this time she shooed me over to the coat rack and demanded that I take it off.

My shoulders slump unconsciously, and I lean back dejectedly as the passengers begin to stand up and scramble for their luggage. I decide, upon witnessing the madness that is the aisle, to be patient and wait for everyone else in the first class section to leave. It really was the logical solution, and I wonder why no one else seems to have figured it out yet. Every time a plane lands, people always jump up the moment they are given permission. They start squawking in discomfort as they struggle to obtain their carry-on, and numerous toes get mercilessly crushed underfoot. I know, I've been there, right alongside my parents, who seem to share the public's rushed tendencies.

I personally have no desire to rush – the prospect of reuniting with an estranged sister really isn't as blissful and tearful as it is in the movies – and so I lean my head back and close my eyes. The sounds fill me slowly, and my other senses seem to dull as the sounds and scents increase in intensity. The sound of breathing reaches my ears, and I peek through my lashes to see that the man beside me was still seated, contentedly staring out the window.

I open my eyes, and the man turns to smile at me.

"You're waiting too, hm?" he asks, and I nod. "I'm surprised, most of you seem so eager to trample each other!" The man laughs, and I crack a smile before I can stop myself.

I feel the sudden inclination to study his appearance, and turn my head to better observe his visage. The man is in his late thirties, perhaps, and his blonde hair is thick and springy, only slightly dusted with gray. His skin is very pale, that is one of the more noticeable things about him, and his eyes are a surprisingly bright blue in color. The man's face is creased, but there is an odd dignity to his age.

The plane attendant strides over – most of the other first class passengers have exited the plane, leaving a pleasant silence in their wake – and her smile is warm and professional as she leans down to address the blonde man.

"Sir, your coffin is being delivered to security, here is your collection slip," she murmurs, handing the man a pale yellow card with a black stamp marking it, along with other written information that I couldn't discern.

"Ah, thank you, that's much appreciated," the man – wait, the _vampire_! – replies, smiling politely and sliding out of his seat. I must look pretty shell-shocked at this rather sudden discovery, because his mouth parts in a bright grin.

His fangs shine, dangerous and fascinating, in the bright light of the interior. I gulp, and my pulse is rushing in my ears, steady and soothing. I'm alive, I'm alive…oh God help me, I was rude to a vampire! He'll probably bite me first, and then rape me. At least, that's what I _think _he'll do! What do vampires do, other than have sex and feed? Do they torture for the fun of it? Ah, why am I even _thinking_ about this?

The vampire nods to me, and I'm too focused on his fangs to notice what his hands are doing. His fangs are oddly small, but even from a distance I can tell that they will have no trouble tearing me into bite-size nibblets.

"It was a pleasure talking to you, miss. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Shreveport."

And then, he vanishes, as if into thin air.

My scared, trembling body wants to sit there and stare into space, but the more rational part of my mind – somehow still intact – orders me to get up, and so I do. My carry-on backpack proves some trouble, as I shoved it pretty far into the cubby, but I manage to get it out eventually. I sling it over my shoulders, and walk out of the airplane, managing to smile at the staff when they wish me a good night.

I just met my first vampire. I'm terrified, excited, and completely disappointed.

Mom and Dad had taken great care to prevent any vampire-esque movies, books, or TV shows from entering my spectrum, and it hadn't been until college that my eyes really opened. Of course, going to college locally hadn't really expanded my horizon _that _much. Sure, I had learned a whole bunch of swear words – I still didn't like to use them – and been introduced to the affects of alcohol and lack of commitment.

But unfortunately for me, he whole "vampire" thing is so commonplace nowadays that it isn't a topic of avid gossip. Most of what I had learned was from that blood donor, and we hadn't been very close friends, and so that knowledge was even less in-depth than it could have been.

I finally met a vampire – suffered through three hours of boring, tedious conversation with one – and I'm more than slightly irritated. I had built up the idea that they were these awesome, super cool creatures that were infinitely wise. Well, the vampire I met was the exact opposite. I had been under the impression, until the word "coffin" was mentioned, that he was just another bland human being, with useless information that he felt was crucial to my existence.

I'm not stupid enough to discount their lethalness – if it's one thing my parents have instilled in me, it's that vampires are dangerous, and aren't bound by human morals. I just…expected _more_, somehow. Like a bloodthirsty air about them, perhaps a pair of bat wings.

If the blonde is anything to go by, then vampires look just like anyone else – albeit considerably paler. At night, I'm going to have trouble distinguishing them, which is good for everyone besides myself. I'll be an unknowing snack. Oh God, is Shreveport like San Luis Obispo, or are there a lot more vampires here? How do people sleep at night, knowing that vampires are lurking around?

I enter the terminal, and a burst of stale air-conditioning hits my nose. I sniff uncomfortably, already missing Southern California weather. I look around silently, my walk slowing to a shuffle. It is almost identical to the airport back home, except for the numerous Louisiana and Shreveport merchandise. My eyes widen as I see a liquor store that has a dark red sign under the menu.

_Tru Blood available._

And just under that: _Types (+ and -) O, A, AB_

There are no such signs in San Luis Obispo, and so I have to assume that the vampire population here in Shreveport is much larger than in my hometown. I blindly follow the overhead signs that direct me to the baggage claim, trying to take it all in. I'm not under the supervision of my parents. For the first time…well, the first time _ever_, I can do whatever I want. If I really, really wanted, I could go and buy myself a bottle of wine.

Not that I like alcohol – the taste sends me scampering in the opposite direction – it's more of the fact that I _could _that puts a big smile on my face. I shift my shoulders so that my pack rests more comfortably, and finally reach Baggage Claim 1. The metal conveyor is already spinning around in the endless circle, and I take my place among the masses, staring at one spot, waiting for my large black suitcase – decorated with a bright green ribbon – to come into my line of vision.

A few minutes I find my bag, and get the heavy case off of the belt – normally, no one would help, but it would seem that in the South, people actually take into consideration that my suitcase reaches my breastbone, and so an older gentlemen rushed in to help. I thank him, and tuck my long hair behind my ears, blowing a stray hair out of my mouth as I do so.

I move toward the exit, searching for…what am I searching for, exactly? I haven't seen Rebecca in eight years, she could be a complete blimp by now, with black hair and a moustache (a little drastic, but you get my drift). The skinny, sassy teenager I had known could have matured into a mother, with several small children tugging at her pants – oh, wait, she's getting married. Scratch that last one.

I look around in earnest, growing more and more frustrated when I see several women waiting at the entrance. I stop, and quickly whip out my cell phone, pretending to text. I steal subtle glances upward; trying to decide which one reminds me of Rebecca the most.

One is pretty enough to be a movie star, with large bangles and a confidant sneer on her lips as she gabs into her iPhone. Sure, she looks like a compelte bitch – I cringe, but have to admit it's the only word that really fits – but I could see bits of Rebecca in her. The way she stands, cocking a hip out, the arch to her flawless eyebrows…

Another woman is pleasantly curvy, with a man by her side. The two are very attractive, and the woman is giving the man gooey looks that just scream: "I love this man with every fiber of my luscious body". Her hair is the same shade as Rebecca's, though a bit darker. Her eyes are not the right shade of green, and so I turn away, huffing angrily. My phone finds its way back into my pocket, and suddenly the idea pops up.

Oh yeah, I have a _cell phone_. I can _call _my long-lost sister and ask her why she seems determined to remain lost.

I shake my head at my stupidity, and pull my bulky phone out of my pocket. In her letter, she had written a cell number for me to call if something went wrong, and I had keyed it into my contacts almost immediately.

My phone is a dinosaur, and so it takes several long seconds to display my contacts. I groan, cursing my parents for deeming such a piece of junk appropriate for a college student. I decide to look up briefly in order to distract myself, and then I see her.

Rebecca is standing by the baggage claim, nervously eyeing the people as they collect their luggage. Good, I'm glad I'm not the only one who's less than comfortable. Her straight hair falls freely around her face – older, slightly more creased than it was when she left – a warm chocolate brown in color. Her skin is as tanned and smooth as I remember, and her tall, slender figure is clad in a flawless green sundress.

By her side is a very handsome man. He is slightly taller than her, with dark brown hair and eyes just as dark. The man's skin is deathly pale, and his left hand rests on her hip – bereft of a ring, as is customary before the official marriage ceremony. Deathly pale…oh no…

I freeze. The man is a vampire. My sister is engaged to a vampire.

There are several bulky men standing behind them, and from the warm tone I can see that these are human bodyguards. Why do my sister and her fiancée need bodyguards? What the heck is going on, and why oh why is my sister marrying a vampire? Wait, isn't it illegal for vampires and humans to marry?

I hurriedly look down to my phone once more, and only glance up once or twice every few minutes. I lean against a pillar, and see that Rebecca's eyes are looking in my direction. Then, her eyes drift away. I am tempted to laugh. My own sister doesn't recognize me…a bit depressing, especially because I had recognized her almost immediately.

I smile without humor, and take a deep breath. It's now or never, I say to myself. My pack is heavy against my shoulders, as if telling me to turn back, and my fingers are painfully tight around the handle of my suitcase. My shoes squeak against the polished linoleum of the floor, and the sound is as constant as my blinking.

I stop a few yards away, waiting for the young woman's eyes to finally acknowledge me. Rebecca's jaw drops in shock, and her hands come to cover her mouth. The vampire smiles, and takes a few steps back, letting his fiancée stand alone. I brace myself, silently allowing Rebecca to approach, her hands outstretched as if to make sure I am real. Her eyes are shining with tears, and she gently touches my hair, smiling at the length. Rebecca seems hesitant, as if unsure of how to properly greet me, and for a few moments there is space in between us.

My arms lift. She lets out a watery laugh of joy, and envelops me in a hug. The strength of her arms, the smell of her perfume – it is spicy and warm – the sound of her laugh…it is all so familiar, and I let myself sink into it.

We part, and Rebecca is talking, her voice excited and quick.

"Oh my God, I didn't recognize you, Nicole! I wasn't sure you were going to come, even though you responded to my letter…I thought that…" her voice trails off, and I know that she was referring to my parents; she thought that they would forbid me to come.

"They don't know," I say quietly, and Rebecca's face lightens as she beams proudly. I shrug sheepishly, refusing to feel totally fine with lying to my parents.

"Wow, you really _have_ changed…"

"So have you," I am inclined to shoot back, uncomfortable with the astonishment in her voice. She laughs, and I notice the simple, elegant ring on her left hand. It sparkles in the artificial light, and she notices me looking at it. A look of ardent happiness brightens her eyes, and she flaps her hands in shame.

"Of course, you have to meet him! Nicole, this," she says, touching the forearm of the vampire. "is Bill Compton. Bill, this is my younger sister, Nicolette Silverberg."

I am surprised that she remembers my full name; hardly anyone knows it, and the only time it's been used – up until this moment – is when Mom and Dad are furiously disappointed in me, and are about to dish out some serious punishment.

Bill smiles cordially at me, and gives me a small bow. "It is a pleasure, Miss Silverberg. Rebecca has spoken of nothing else for days," he says in a low voice, and I am quite surprised to hear the thick twang of his Southern accent. It was very appealing, and I nod in greeting. I have no reason to be rude to him; even if he _is_ a vampire, he is still my sister's fiancée.

"It's nice to meet you," I reply, and Rebecca smiles in obvious relief. She was probably thinking that I, being smothered by our parents' anti-vampire ways, would recoil from Bill. I'm really glad that my subconscious seems to be acclimating rather quickly to the idea of being around vampires. Perhaps it was the fact that I had spent three hours peacefully ignoring one without any such fear. That's probably it.

A bodyguard coughs lightly, and my attention is drawn to the trio of muscular men once more. I frown, and Bill gives Rebecca a quick look. My sister nods, and smiles encouragingly at me, linking her arm with mine.

"You got everything?"

I nod, still unsure of what Bill's look had signified. Was my sister in danger? Was the airport not safe?

Rebecca gives my arm a heartening squeeze, and walks with me toward the large sliding doors. The vampire and the bodyguards follow closely behind.

"You're going to love it here, Nicole, I'm sure of it," Rebecca assures me, and I smile weakly at her in response. A dark minivan is waiting for us, and my luggage gets loaded in with little trouble. Rebecca and I slide into the backseat, and Bill and the bodyguards sit in front, giving us some privacy.

The engine purrs to life, and we set off.


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you guys like it!

Questions? Concerns?

_**Review**_, and all shall be explained (to the best of my ability)!

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><p>It has been thirty minutes since we left the airport. Thirty minutes of awkward silence, and I'm getting desperate for the courage to initiate some sort of conversation. Miles of endless trees and gas stations flicker past, and I heave a quiet sigh of discomfort.<p>

I'm sitting silently beside Rebecca, and the denim covering my behind is as uncomfortable as I am on the impossibly expensive leather seats – it keeps slipping on the shiny surface, unwilling and/or unable to stay put. My hair is tucked behind my ears, and Rebecca speaks as I run a hand through it.

"You finally got bangs, huh?" she comments, her voice slightly strained, and I gave her a quick look. _No freaking _duh, I want to snap, but of course I don't. Instead, I give her a nod, reaching up to touch the bangs in question as if to reassure her; Yes, I _am_ aware that I have acquired bangs, thanks for double-checking! Rebecca sighs, as if sensing my sarcastic thoughts, and leans back against the black leather, staring up at the ceiling of the car.

"Oh, Nick," she sighs, and I smile at the nickname. First, my parents named me Nicolette, and they were diligent in using it for about a day, or so Rebecca had told me when I was old enough to understand such things. Then, it had been simplified to Nicole, which was much more easily said and written. Rebecca had, in her early teens, further shortened it to Nick.

No one calls me Nicolette, and as a result everyone thinks that my given name is Nicole. I don't allow people to call me by Nick, or even Nicky, because that was the name that Rebecca gave me. It's special, sacred even. Hearing the name after so many years tugs my memory backward in time, but I keep my mind put, unwilling to let my focus waver.

Rebecca abruptly cuts into the silence, saying, "I've played this out in my head a million times…guess it goes to prove that these things can't be fit into a schedule, huh?" she laughs tiredly, and I am relieved. I feel the exact same way, and I want to say so. I open my mouth, and – go figure – say something completely different.

"Why didn't you contact me?" I ask, and am surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds in the muffled hum that is the interior of the car. I clear my throat experimentally, and look over to see that Rebecca is staring at me, silently pleading with me to understand. She reaches over to take my hand, ignoring my slight grimace.

I'm not touchy-feely, at _all_. Hugging is okay as long as I'm the one controlling the length and intensity of the action. It's the same with handshaking. As long as it is quick and to the point – no creepy lingering – I'm willing to grit my teeth and bear it. I don't know when the aversion started, all I knew that it had been there for as long as I could remember. Rebecca, who in my memories had been extremely emotional, had been the only one around whom I relaxed the no-touching rule. Even at a young age I could sense that her need for physical reassurance far surpassed my dislike of being touched.

"Because of Mom and Dad, Nick. You know how controlling they are. Do you really think they would let you see anything I sent?" she asks seriously, and I nod in understanding. Everything is monitored in the Silverberg house, from letters to email. It wasn't until college that I finally rebelled – in a tiny, insignificant way, but it was rebelling nonetheless – and set up my own college email account. It was at this email address that Rebecca contacted me, but that had been _after _I graduated college.

"Also (and I know this sounds completely selfish) but I haven't exactly been sitting around and twiddling my thumbs. When I was cut off from Mom and Dad, I had to make a life for myself. After I left home, I hitched a ride to Los Angeles, where I started dancing at a local bar."

My eyes widen, and I can't help but cutting in, "You mean, _strip _dan–"

"Yes." Her voice is crisp and honest; there is no shame in her expression. "I made more in one year than Mom and Dad did in two. With that money, I applied and was accepted to the Art Institute of Texas, where I graduated with a double major in fashion design and business management. When I finished, I was twenty-three. You had just graduated high school, I remember. I left you a message, you know. It was a good, ten minute rant about how happy I was that you had graduated, how much I missed you, how I hoped that I would see you in the near future…things like that."

I blink stupidly, shocked to my core. I had never been told of a phone message, and I wonder if my parents even bothered to listen to the entire message, or if they had deleted it once they recognized my sister's voice. The thought sent hot anger flushing through my system.

"And then?" I prompted, forcing my feelings down. _Not now_, I scold, and focus on my older sister. Rebecca is quiet for a minute or two, and I notice how well kept and shiny her hair is. From my dim memories of her high school career, I remember that her hair had been longer than mine is now, and she had used a curl iron every morning in order to create girlish curls. Now, her naturally straight hair falls to her shoulders, giving her a strangely dignified air.

"I started working as a designer for a small chain, and after a year there I was offered a change to manage the chain of _Bloomingdales _in Shreveport. I accepted, and they flew me out here. I met a vampire customer who wanted to have a dress designed, and since none of the other designers were willing to do it – they aren't very vampire-friendly, even though I, the manager, am – I said that I would. Her name is Beatrice Tavener, and I learned later that she was a vampire Sheriff – a very high-ranked position in vampire society. She was so happy with my work that she offered me a commission to make formal gowns and suits for her vampire court, while allowing me to keep my management gig. I was more than happy to accept, and I've been doing that ever since. Beatrice and I have grown pretty close, and that's how it happened that I was invited to a private vampire ball. Bill was there, and that's how we met."

I stare at her, letting the information soak in, unable to formulate an appropriate response. My sister, the sister that my parents labeled as "dumb", "trashy", and "pathetic", was undoubtedly the strongest person I had ever met. She had worked from the bottom up, making a name for herself, getting herself educated, making connections with powerful people. If only our parents could see her now, proudly sitting in her beautiful green dress, with diamonds in her ears, elegant high-heeled sandals on her feet. Rebecca looked, to say the least, like a queen. I tell her so, and she laughs nervously, her eyes darting toward the front of the car, where her fiancée is assumedly seated. There is a cloth separation that blocks the others from our view, and so all she appears to be looking at is a black curtain. The look, as well as the nervous laughter, makes me suspicious. What was she hiding?

"When is the wedding?" I ask, more calmly than I intended, and her face lights up, glowing with pleasure at the change of subject. Her eyes are vivacious with excitement, and she gives a little dance.

"In November, if everything goes according to plan. Vampire politics are a hassle, that's for sure. Things change from day to day, so it's all we can do to keep up," she says, and at the topic of politics she gives that nervous laugh again, and I frown.

"What's going on, Rebecca? Why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?" I ask, trying to keep my voice level, and she gives me a long look that is torn between looking excited and completely overwhelmed.

"I…I'm sorry, Nick. I don't mean to sound so frazzled…it's just…it's just been a crazy couple of days. Bill only proposed a week or so ago, and…" she trails off, and gave me a small smile. "You're new to the vampire scene, and so I want to ease you in somewhat. It's all very complicated. Bill is angry with me for bringing you out here," she blurts out, and my brows shoot upward. The vampire had seemed the epitome of serenity when I was introduced to him, so it was surprising to hear that the vampire was anything but.

"Why?" I ask, and Rebecca sighs.

"Well, because Bill is the vampire king of Louisiana, and me openly proclaiming the presence of a human – and ultimately vulnerable – sister will only give others more chances for blackmail. And since you're the sister of the future Queen, they have to give you information that is usually reserved for vampires only. This is, to them, a huge risk. But don't worry, the security in Bill's mansion is insanely advanced, and I wouldn't bring you if I wasn't 100% sure that you'd be safe."

This information should have terrified me, but instead of the numbing fear I was expecting, I feel only a mild jolt and a burning curiosity. Vampires have monarchies? I know that they're organized, but not to what extent, and I'm suddenly eager to meet with Rebecca's fiancée, if only to discuss how the vampire world works outside of human knowledge. For my sister's sake, I kept my face calm and free of any anxiety, not wanting to give any reason for her to panic.

"Would you really become the Queen?" I ask, unable to keep the disbelief from my tone. She smiles in bashful affirmation, and twiddles with her fingers as she answers.

"Yeah. I'd be like Bill's Vice-President, his second-in-command. If he needed to go away for a time, I would take over, and run the kingdom in his place. Bill told me that it was my choice, and that Louisiana didn't require a Queen to function. But I'm willing to do it, and so all the way up until the wedding I'll be learning up on vampire politics and meeting with lots of other vampires around the state, to get them used to the idea."

"Where do I fit into this?" I inquire, unable to see where a younger sister is required for all of this.

Rebecca leans her head against the seat while keeping eye contact, her hand coming up to tug on a few straight strands of her hair. Her eyes – Dad's eyes – stare into my own, searching them silently and with surprising steadiness. .

"Well, as you already know, you'll be the maid of honor," she began, and I nodded; it had been in the email. "And since I am designing the entire wedding party attire, I have to have you here for fittings and such. Since I'm working on so many people, it's just better to have you around for the duration of the planning. I have this weekend off to hang out with you, so that's good. After that, I'll be trying to adjust to vampire schedule, doing my work at night and sleeping most of the day. You will be free to do whatever you want, then. Bill's neighbor is actually looking for a babysitter, if you're interested. You'd get paid."

I shrug, uncommitted to the idea. I don't hate children, but I'm not exactly crazy about them, either. It would be nice to have some spending money, though.

I spend the rest of the drive listening to Rebecca rave about the town Bill resides in, a place called "Bon Temps". From her descriptions, it seems to be a less universally religious version of San Luis Obispo, and I have to restrain myself from commenting on that. I don't want to darken our reuniting, and so I just nod and listen without interrupting, letting her talk to her heart's content.

In truth, I had nothing to say. I was in awe of this creature that was my sister, and a tiny bit jealous as well. I know, it's stupid, but I gave myself a few seconds in which to feel impossibly angry at the way our lives had turned out. Why hadn't I been blessed with the ability to speak out against my parents? Why was I cursed with cowardice, with quiet obedience and unconditional compassion? I should hate my parents for what they did to my sister, I should hate them for how sheltered they kept me, how unprepared their teaching left me for the real world. But they were still my parents. I still wanted them to smile at me, I still needed their love.

Rebecca was all that I had hoped to be when I was younger, and now, looking at her, I know that I fell several marks short.

Then, with a shake, I force the bitterness away. God is the only one with the power to change my destiny, and so all I can do is hope that He takes pity on me and decides to give me a boost. For now, I'm just going to focus on being happy for my sister. It's all I can do, really.

We've long since left the city behind us, and as I glance out the window I see that we are entering a small collection of shops. Most of the buildings are so old that I was surprised that they were still standing, and they seem almost deflated next to much newer structures that are practically glowing in comparison. The lamps emit a warm yellow glow, and I see from a sign that this town is Bon Temps. It is much less like San Luis Obispo than I imagined; for one, it's a _lot _smaller, and the buildings have a strength about them. There is no doubt that vampires populate this town. The windows of the car are down, and I smell the sharp scent of the eucalyptus trees. Their branches sway in the breeze, a slow and tired dance, as if greeting an old friend.

Rebecca is finally quiet, letting me soak in the sights, and I am grateful for the silence. Now that my sister has stopped talking, I can hear the muted sounds of Rebecca's fiancée talking to the bodyguards, and the soft whoosh of the air as it passes. The car turn onto a well-paved road that begins a lazy winding pattern through the trees, and through the darkness appears a large mansion that has several large pillars holding up the roof. A large fence surrounds the property, and I hear Bill's voice once more, and at some unseen signal the gates swing inward to admit the black vehicle. Rebecca is gathering her purse, and I hug my backpack to my chest, staring up at the largest house I had ever seen in my life. My sister _lived _here? I half-expected a bunch of smartly dressed servants to pop out of nowhere and start singing a catchy tune, and was greatly relieved when no such thing occurred. Instead, there is a blur as Bill appears beside the car, opening the door like a true gentleman. Rebecca giggles – I had no idea that vampires could move that fast, and so at Bill's sudden movement I gave an involuntary yip. I send her a scowl, and she brushes it off with a cheeky smile. My anger crumples, and she slides out of the car, accepting Bill's proffered hand. Bill sends me a cool smile, and I smile in return. There is no hand offered for me, and so I quickly clamber out of the car, blinking in the bright lights surrounding the mansion.

Rebecca releases Bill's hand, and moves to stand by me, offering me her support. I glance at her, and she gives me a reassuring pat on the arm. My eyes are drawn to a dark gray object beyond the fence, and a wry smirk crosses my lips as I recognize it to be a grave-marker. Lines upon lines of them are organized across the uneven grass, all etched with dark letters that are illegible to me.

Rebecca is looking at me rather curiously, and so I turn away from the graveyard and follow Bill toward the house. The bodyguards who drove with us bring up the rear, and their eyes scan the area carefully, not letting their concentration waver even for a second. The night is soft and warm, a typical summer evening, and the lights of the house are blaring and harsh against the dusky blackness of the surrounding forest.

I make my way up the steps, and Bill opened the large front doors for me, bowing slightly as I pass. I meet his eye, and I can't sense the anger Rebecca mentioned at all. This disconcerts me, as it means that Bill is an extremely adept liar. The pleasantly blank look in the vampire's eyes reminded me of the previous preacher at my church—

No, I'm not going to think about that man. Not now, not _ever_.

I thank Bill, and step into the mansion, staring around in awe of how spacious and clean everything was. The entry hall was large, the floor made up of warm brown wood streaked with cream, and the walls were a pristine white. There was a winding staircase that led to the upper floor, and descending down it at this very moment is a woman that reminds me of sunlight.

It was the first comparison I could make, and I stand, flabbergasted. Her blonde hair is as long as mine, falling perfectly straight, shining in the flattering interior light. The woman moves to stand before Bill, and her skin is richly tanned, fairly glowing with health. Blue eyes flicker to mine, and they are full of fire. This woman looks so completely out of place beside the vampire that I almost laugh, and only just manage to contain my nervous laughter.

The woman is focused on me, though how I know that is beyond me. Physically, she is greeting Bill and Rebecca with equal warmth, moving forward to give my sister a friendly hug. But somehow, I know that her attention is on me. I stare at her, unable to look away. Why am I in such a state over this woman? I just can't seem to look away, it's as if all the light is centered on her.

"She's not a blabber, Bill. Cleaner than most," the woman says in a thick Southern accent – the same as Bill's – tone light and casual. Bill looks to me, and speaks clearly for my benefit.

"Nicole, this is Sookie Stackhouse."

Sookie smiles, and reaches forward to envelop me in a hug. She smells like the air before a storm. Intoxicating, with an underlying tinge of danger. I gasp as a flare of energy surges through my form, emanating from the blonde, and I yelp as a small spark shocks my fingertips. Sookie pulls away, and I see that the ethereal beauty has left her form, leaving her looking almost normal. I am gasping for breath, and I feel Rebecca's arms around me.

"Shh, don't worry, it'll wear off in a minute."

"What was that?" I practically yell, and Sookie gives Bill a significant glance. Bill nods, and Sookie smiles widely. Her blonde hair flips over her shoulder, and her hands clasp together.

"I'm one-eighth fairy, hon. Fairies are among the supernatural; vampires, weres, witches and so on. They attract those of all races, especially vampires. Normally, such small amount of fae wouldn't mean much. But since I'm of a royal fae line, the glow is a lot stronger. My powers awoke five years ago, which intensifies the glow even more. What I just did was block your senses from my glow, making you immune to the fae attraction. How do you feel?"

"Extremely confused," I growl, glaring at Rebecca. "You couldn't have told me some of this in that email, huh?"

Rebecca grimaces, shoulders slumping in shame. Bill rises to her defense, his dark eyes glittering in the light overhead.

"No, she couldn't. You see, Sookie is a telepath, and she scans every single human who is brought into the vampire circle. Rebecca couldn't tell you about the other supernatural beings, because they are still hidden from public knowledge. Allowing for such information to be given via internet is forbidden. In fact, the only reason Sookie told you is because she found your mind innocent of any evil intentions. If you had been suspicious in any way, you would not be allowed to stay here."

Well, I'm officially speechless. I stare at each person in turn; waiting for someone to start laughing and tell me it was all a joke. No one does. I turn to Rebecca, who is watching me with nervous eyes.

"She just read my mind?"

"Yes, I did," Sookie states curtly, apparently not liking being ignored. I glance at her, and Rebecca steps away from Bill once more. Her gray-green eyes are soft and gentle, and I frown at her.

"I'm sorry, Nick," she murmurs, hugging me. "I wanted to tell you. Trust me, I was just as confused as you were when I first found out. It gets better, especially when you start getting to know them. Sookie's husband, for example, he's a werewolf. You'll meet him tomorrow, if we're lucky."

Sookie nods, and for the first time I notice that she's wearing loose jeans and a flowing white shirt. "Alcide's got some work tomorrow, but I'll be sure he's home for lunch. How bout you girls visit us then? How does one-thirty sound to y'all?"

Rebecca assures Sookie that one-thirty is fine, and with that Sookie says goodbye, and walks out of the mansion. I heard her laughing with a few of the bodyguards, and then there is silence. Rebecca is speaking quietly to Bill, who murmurs something quietly in return. The look in his eyes is tender, adoring, and Rebecca hums in agreement before leaning in to kiss him. I glance away, cringing at the way his hand slides up her back. Oh dear…

Then, in a flash of that strange vampire speed, he is gone, and Rebecca turns to me. Her eyes are bright with happiness, and her teeth gleam as she grins boldly at me. I simply raise an eyebrow, and she laughs, unashamed. I blush for her, and she rolls her eyes at my embarrassment.

"Alright, a tour!" she crows, and marches off, leaving me to trail behind in a state of disbelief that I am related to such a person.


End file.
